


Stitching Up The Seams

by wasp



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bodyguard!AU, Drug Abuse, Language, M/M, Physical Abuse, self-destructive behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasp/pseuds/wasp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s never easy to forget but at least Louis’ stopped fighting it, broken bones and split skin does that. (Liam's Louis' body guard but he can't really protect him from the things that matter.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stitching Up The Seams

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by ♥[intherubble](http://intherubble.livejournal.com/)♥ + [fanmix](http://apayneinthearse.tumblr.com/post/26486391718/stitching-up-the-seams-kettering-the-antlers) \+ [coda](http://archiveofourown.org/works/563575)

The first time Louis calls Liam, he doesn’t think he’ll pick up. He doesn’t even know what drove him to call in the first place, just remembers blind panic and terror clawing at his throat, vomit sticking to the soles of his shoes. Even in this state, Louis knows well enough, fear slips through his drug-addled brain and reminds him he _can’t_ and so he calls Liam. Liam picks up and tells him firmly, “Don’t move, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

They’re not friends, far from it and from the thousands of contacts in Louis’ phone, he knows Liam’s the only one he can actually call for help. He sits with his back pressed against the brick wall, pressing the scratched heel of his hands into his eyes and trying not to start gasping for breath.

He’s fifteen and stupid and even in this state he knows he can’t call his father’s people. He can’t even call Rosa even though she loves him and she’ll be able to have a car in front of the club in less than five minutes. He can’t call her or any of _them_ because they’ll have to tell _him_ and anything is better than standing in front of him, cold air slicing pain into the scars of his back.

Liam’s not family or friend, he’s no-one, he doesn’t register on _anyone’s_ radar, not yet anyway, and Louis thanks god for that.

Louis’ flinches away when Liam crouches in front of him, strong hands pulling him up. He lets go immediately and says, “Louis, it’s me,” like he’s trying to soothe a wounded animal.

Louis stops looking around in panic, pupils blown and mouth bleeding, and he makes a sound in the back of his throat that’s pure relief. Liam lifts him into an indiscreet car and shuts the cold out, laying Louis down onto the leather seats. Once the fog in his mind has dissipated to the point Louis remembers, he wonders how he ever forgot and he’s seized by blind panic, grabbing at Liam’s shirt and pulling at his broad shoulders with bile rising in his throat.

“You can’t tell him,” Louis gasps out through the broken skin and clutches at the nape of Liam’s neck like a lifeline.

“I won’t,” Liam says and wraps his hands around Louis’ wrists, thumb against the pulse point. He doesn’t remove Louis’ hand from his neck just yet, holds the bones in his hand for a moment.

“You have to _promise_ ,” Louis says, eyes closing already as he’s pulled under again, fingers going slack.

“I promise,” Liam says and he sounds resigned and a little bit sad and the thought of it rings feverish laughter in his head.

He only realises he’s laughing out loud, choking into it really, when Liam sighs and his shoulders shaking feels like the earth moving under his feet. Liam wipes at the corner of his bleeding mouth with a handkerchief and Louis doesn’t wince because that’s _nothing_.

Liam gets him home safe and he doesn’t tell Louis’ father.

~

Louis sees Liam almost every day. He stands close to Louis, not close enough to cut him with the sharp lines of his suit but close enough to intercept a bullet and its _business_. Liam works for Louis (for his father, actually) and his job is to protect him, there’s nothing more to it.

It’s a week after when Louis had woken up in his own bed, relatively safe with bruises blooming on his hips, Louis speaks to Liam. Well, he doesn’t speak to him but hands him an envelope full of cash with a pointed look. It’s a ‘thank you’ and a ‘keep your fucking mouth shut’ all rolled into one and Louis gets the delight of watching Liam’s usually stoic face contort in confusion.

“I don’t need your money,” Liam says and tries to hand the money back and _oh_ how Louis hates him. The thought of him makes his lips curl harshly and the desire to rip him to shreds swells in his guts, to pick him apart, peel the skin from his bones because he knows he’s still golden and shining underneath the suit like a fucking knight in a fairy tale.

Louis just stares at him for a moment, his face carefully blank like he’s had to learn to do before he starts laughing, harsh and way too bitter for someone so young.

“Everybody wants my money,” he says and slides it inside the jacket of Liam’s jacket, has to stand on his tippy-toes to reach comfortably. He pats his chest with a shit-eating grin, eyes cold and says, “You’re – what, nineteen? – go buy yourself something nice.”

Nobody does anything for anybody for nothing. Fucking children know that. Louis shakes his head and gets into the waiting car, doesn’t watch as Liam snaps back into professional mode and closes the door behind him.

~

Louis’ known Liam before he was hired by his father; hated him actually. Louis isn’t particularly friendly with the household staff, he’s learned that lesson when he came home one day and his nanny was gone. It’s not his fault he doesn’t remember what his mother sounded like, he just wanted to say the words once.

Through the grapevine, Louis’ gathers that Liam’s mum worked for Louis’ mum. It’s odd because she doesn’t have to leave, everyone else gets replaced by blank, staring faces in a regular rotation but his father lets her stay.

He remembers Liam from his childhood - just barely - slipping through his memories like a shadow, leaving smudged fingerprints on the insides of his eyelids. Liam’s four years older than him and Louis remembers him running around in the gardens, hindering his mother more than helping her. But she doesn’t raise her voice or hand, just laughs when he gets dirt on the end of her nose and kisses his cheeks, gets dirt in his hair in retaliation.

From then on, it’s not that hard to hate Liam Payne.

He gets a scholarship because of course he’s intelligent in all the ways Louis isn’t and when that falls through, his father takes a chance and pays for his education, says it’s an _investment_ like Liam’s another business transaction. Louis watches his father _smile_ when Liam finishes at the top of his class. Louis stops wanting to _be_ like Liam and resents him instead because how come he gets to have everything so easily when it was Louis who was born into a multi-millionaire family.

~

They have a celebration every year of his mother’s death. Well, it’s Louis’ birthday too but more or less, he’s forced to dress in his expensively tailored suit and give a speech about how much he misses his mother he didn’t have the chance to know and talk to people who are double his age and more.

He knows he shouldn’t, he can feel the shadow of his father looming over his shoulder but he needs to get rid of the sick feeling in his stomach somehow and so he grabs a champagne flute from a passing waiter and takes a long sip. It gets easier to sit and talk to people, listen to them mention his mother and how he’s got her eyes and smile and wish him a happy sixteenth. That’s until he has one too many and when someone tries to subtlety take the glass away from him, he stumbles backwards and almost falls, glass shattering. When he swings his head to the right, Liam’s got his eyes downcast, fingers bleeding where they’re wrapped around Louis’ arm to stall his fall.

It only takes a glance from his father for Liam to start helping Louis out of the ballroom. Louis thinks about fighting him for a second, press glass into his skin like how it’s being crushed against the soles of his shoes but he doesn’t. He lets himself be led out, hears his father make a joke about it being his sixteenth and the doors shut behind him.

He doesn’t like thinking about what would’ve happened if his mother hadn’t died giving birth to him. If she’d been next to him, alive and whole to maybe stop his father – or if his father wouldn’t be _him_ if she’d survived. Louis drowns out the thoughts in his head, his pulse pounding in his ear as he retches up the little he had for dinner into the toilet. It’s only then he feels the heat of Liam’s hand bleed into the small of his back, against the silk of his shirt and he screws his eyes shut, clenches at the rim of the bowl with white-knuckled hands and dry-heaves again.

He remembers, tries to hold on to the handprint Liam scorched into his back when he collects another line across his back, like notches in the leather belt stinging raw skin.

~

Sometimes Louis dreams his mouth is filling with blood, his teeth cracked and sliding down his throat, choking him. He wakes up gasping for breath, like his lungs are on fire, his throat hoarse and the taste of metal lingers in his mouth. He wakes up with crescent moon ridges along his palm and he starts to hate sleeping as much as he hates the sunrise.

The house makes him feel crushed and ancient so he gets up out of bed, the inky darkness of the night soothing against his skin. He swallows another pill, smiles at another man and _moves_. It’s never easy to forget but at least Louis’ stopped fighting it, broken bones and split skin does that.

~

He’s seventeen and none the wiser when he dials Liam’s number, standing out some guy’s apartment in a seedy neighbourhood. He doesn’t remember his name, he doesn’t remember much but he didn’t ask questions when he raked his nails down his back and closed his eyes.

Liam finds him splayed out on the sidewalk, barely conscious. He’s so tired and he tells Liam this. Liam gets Louis’ arm around his shoulder and hauls him up, his body a solid reassuring heat.

“I know,” Liam says and Louis snorts into the side of his neck because _what the fuck does he know_.

Liam gets him into the car and asks him if he’s bleeding anywhere, if he has any broken bones, if he’s hit his head. Louis ignores him, slumps forward and noses at the line of Liam’s collarbone through his shirt, breathing in slowly because the smell of the leather of the seats is making him nauseous. He closes his eyes and stops thinking.

For a moment, Liam doesn’t do anything, just lets Louis hide before resting a broad steady hand against the back of Louis’ neck, keeping him in place when his eyes start to shut, thumbing at the sensitive skin behind his ear.

Louis’ too tired to cry. He’s learned long ago tears don’t help anyway.

~

“Nice sunnies, very men in black,” Louis says when he exists Starbucks, taking a sip from his drink.

Liam looks surprised, caught off-guard from where he’s standing behind Louis. Louis knows they’re not supposed to talk, the body-guards. He’s pretty sure he’s father fired one for smiling at him once. Liam almost opens his mouth before he remembers himself and he straights his back further, clasps his hand over his wrist.

Louis laughs and gets in the car.

~

Louis meets a boy with bright green eyes and a ridiculous amount of curls and falls hard, knees shattering on impact. He’s just as fucked up as Louis and offers to blow him five minutes into their conversation and Louis holds his scarred wrists down against the seat and grins back. Louis lets him burrow under his skin and stay.

Except he knows he’s not allowed to. If his father found out - Louis doesn’t want to think about that, he wants to think about the soft skin on the inside of Harry’s knees and the perfect alignment of bones of his hand. He wants to shut his eyes and move against him, heat enveloping the both of them until they’re panting and laughing into each other, with matching blown pupils.

He doesn’t want to ask for help but there’s no other way, he’s eighteen and in _love_. Louis can’t risk going out by himself anymore, the recent blow up in the papers of Louis and his bloody knuckles and shattered cameras is still fresh in his father’s mind and in the darkness blooming in his skin over his ribs.

“Can you take me there?” Louis asks and Liam doesn’t ask questions, manages to sneak him out of the house through security.

Louis knows what risks Liam is taking to do this for him. He doesn’t know how Liam’s priorities got so fucked up – he’s in debt to his father for the rest of his life, he’s not supposed to be helping _Louis_. It doesn’t matter, Louis tells himself this because he gets to be Harry. So he stills his fingers by clutching at his knees and ignores the way his heart thuds in his chest for reasons he can’t pinpoint.

When they get to Harry’s shitty little apartment complex in the rough neighbourhood, Louis stops for a moment. He opens his mouth and says, “You can -.”

“I’ll wait,” Liam says in the driver’s seat, refusing to meet Louis’ eyes in the mirror.

Louis doesn’t know what to say to that so he gets out of the car and shuts the door behind him harder than necessary. It’s like a weight on his chest and as much as he tries to ignore it, Liam’s being _so fucking stupid_ and Louis can’t understand why. He’s stopped accepting his money a long time ago, tightened his grip on his wrist and said in a low voice, “You’re not your father,” and Louis didn’t want to fight him about that. It doesn’t make any sense and Louis can’t shrug it off, not even as he runs up the grimy stairs and is met with open arms and a boyish grin.

He drowns himself with Harry, is pulled under by his force and breathes through his skin.

It’s dusk when Louis gets back in the car and the colours in the sky mirror the marks Harry’s left on him. To no surprise, Liam’s wide awake and he flicks his eyes towards the mirror to make sure Louis’ okay before he starts the engine.

Louis sinks down against the seats and feels relaxed for the first time in a long time, tired in a way that doesn’t hurt.

“Home?” Liam asks and his voice is rough and low from lack of use.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Louis murmurs, already dozing off with the reassuring sound of the car engine.

He doesn’t get a reply but he isn’t really expecting it. Louis falls asleep thinking about Harry and how there’s the hope he could embody what the word’s supposed to mean.

~

Louis pretends. He pretends the scar on his cheek is from a drunken brawl and not from a vase being shattered over his head. He pretends the bones in his right hand aren’t misaligned, pretends it works exactly the same as it did before he was fourteen, he pretends Zayn hasn’t changed since his return from the States and he pretends he doesn’t _need_ Liam.

“Malik!” Louis shouts out, waving a hand in the air.

He’s obviously grown since the last time they’d seen each other, when they were fourteen and tripping over their suddenly too large feet, and his hair is different and there’s an edge to his razor-sharp smile but it’s still _Zayn_.

Zayn takes his sunglasses off, obviously hung-over and reaches Louis with a smile. They fold into an embrace naturally and he feels so different against his body but Louis doesn’t mind, smiles into his shoulder and pulls away.

“You’ve definitely aged worse,” Louis says and doesn’t ask why he’s back.

“Shove it, Tommo,” Zayn says, bumping shoulders.

“Now, young Malik, this is just a suggestion and I, of course, am willing to heed your view on this,” Louis says, putting a finger to his mouth in mock-thought. “I propose we get really fucking drunk in celebration of your heralded return to the promised land.”

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Zayn says with a laugh and Louis thinks _you wouldn’t know_ but laughs along anyway.

Louis doesn’t ask about why Zayn’s back, why he needs to stay with Louis because he knows Zayn was sent to America when he got expelled from their private school. He knows Zayn’s not supposed to come back under threat of disinheritance or something equally stupid.

“Hey, I remember you,” Zayn says pointing at Liam, pushing his sunglasses back on the way out of the airport.

Louis feels a hot flash of irritation at the back of his skull because he still knows _that_ tone. Zayn smiles slowly, all pointy teeth and heat and Louis can practically see Liam’s resolve start to crack.

“Zayn Malik, d’ya remember Lou and I ran around trying to get you to smile?” Zayn says and shakes Liam’s hand like he’s not being paid to stand there.

“Yeah, I do,” Liam says and he smiles a little. Louis rolls his eyes and gets in the car.

“You never did. Guess you’ve unstuck that stick from your arse,” Zayn says and raises an eyebrow lewdly.

Before Liam can answer, Louis pops his head out of the car and says, “We’ve got places to be, people to do. Wrap it up, Malik.”

Zayn slides into the car next to him, all casual grace and fluid lines and sits with their thighs pressed together. He glances pointedly at Liam then raises his eyebrows at Louis.

“You done _that_ yet?” he asks and actually giggles.

“He’s the _help_ , you slag,” Louis says with contempt and shakes his head in disgrace at Zayn.

Louis doesn’t look too closely at Zayn because he can see the shutters behind his eyes, the careful edge of a knife behind it all. Louis doesn’t have time to figure it out; he just knows to be wary.

~

Zayn stays with Louis for a couple of days and the big house doesn’t seem as haunting anymore. There’s something about Zayn, like his ribs had been taken apart and put together all wrong and Louis a little bit terrified of it. They don’t talk about it, of course, it’s a mutual understanding. They’re not fourteen any longer.

For the most part, Louis glad Zayn’s back but he doesn’t understand why his skin itches, feels like its two sizes too small whenever Zayn approaches Liam, tries to get him to smile and converse.

It’s just.

Liam’s _his_. It’s his bodyguard; the one Louis bitterly resents and trusts all at the same time. He’s not going to share or have him taken away from him.

~

Louis sneaks out to attend Harry’s gallery opening. It’s more of an informal gathering in someone’s dirty basement but Harry’s got paint under his nails and Louis wants to see him smile. Liam drives him over as usual but this time he follows Louis into the gallery, scanning the room discreetly. Louis stops himself from rolling his eyes and hits him in the side with his elbow.

“Relax, you look like you’ve got Zayn’s hairspray bottle stuck up your ass,” Louis hisses out of the corner of his mouth. There are quite a few people here for a dirty basement and it makes Louis’ ribcage swell with something like pride.

Louis’ head snaps to the side when Liam snorts, undignified and unprofessional before he stamps it down, looks away as if he hadn’t made any noise. Louis grins but lets it go.

“Lou, you made it!” Harry says and when he smiles, his whole face lights up.

Louis makes his way towards Harry, pulled towards him like force of gravity. He’s almost bowled over by affection when he realises Harry’s wearing his sweater, the one he left over his apartment a couple of weeks ago. It’s too big and the sleeves slip over his palms in a way that almost makes Louis choke.

“Hey, darling,” he says and kisses him to make the feeling go away, cups his pale cheeks in his palms and pulls him even closer. He draws back, his hands still resting on his face. He thumbs at his dimples to make Harry duck his head.

“’Course I did,” he says and doesn’t mention what measures Liam had to take to keep them under the radar. Instead, he wraps his arms around Harry and kisses him shortly, just enough to get him leaning into him before pulling back again.

Harry opens his mouth to say something, brushing his curls out of his face when his eyebrows furrow, his eyes looking into the distance.

“Niall, the food’s for the _guests_ ,” Harry says.

Louis turns around to see a blond cramming his mouth full of the pathetic amount of pigs in a blanket they have on offer. He makes an apologetic sound and shrugs, popping another one in before Harry rushes forward to grab his wrists. Niall giggles and chokes on his food. Harry stops frowning, rolls his eyes and lets a reluctant smile spread on his face.

“This is Lou,” Harry says to Niall, sidling up back to Louis.

Louis pulls him close possessively and smiles at Niall, the light not reaching his eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he says politely and shakes Niall’s greasy hands.

Niall swallows with difficulty and then _beams_ at the both of them and it makes Louis’ heart hurt a little. He’s so thin and pale under his shirt but he’s emitting an energy that’s burning so furiously Louis almost wants to shade his eyes from it.

“Hiya, mate,” Niall says and shakes his hand, hand almost lost in Louis’. “Oh, Christ, I’m supposed to be manning the door,” Niall says and spins around again, bright head glowing underneath the fluorescent light and disappearing into the crowd.

Harry shakes his head when Niall grabs another handful of pigs in a blanket on his way to the door but he’s smiling at his retreating figure. Louis’ finding it hard not to either although it leaves his mouth dry.

“He promised to help me out,” Harry says and sighs dramatically, smiling cheekily, “but all he’s done is steal the food and have multiple people offer him things.”

Louis laughs, presses a kiss to his dimple. He can see that. Something about Niall makes him want to give him the clothes off his back.

“Okay, I’ve gotta mingle,” Harry says and he takes a step away from Louis, his green eyes flicking around the room to see who’s here. They settle on Louis again and Harry cocks his head to the side, eyes wandering to Liam in interest. He sidles up to Louis to ask childishly, “who’s that?”

Louis turns around, clasps his hand on Liam’s strong shoulders and says, “That’s Liam. He’s my bodyguard but you’re not supposed to have noticed.”

“You should stop holding your arms like that,” Harry says thoughtfully, “you’re making it obvious that you’re protecting him.”

With that nugget of advice, Harry sweeps away to talk to pretentious underground artists or whoever else is here, leaving Louis to stare at his paintings. He’s seen most of them before; he’d been in the studio when some of them were painted after all.

So Louis turns to Liam and sees the difference when he relaxes, lets his arms fall to his side although he remains close enough to Louis to take action if anything did happen to him. He looks completely different with the tension fallen off his shoulders. He looks normal in his plaid sweater and trousers, sturdy wrists and capable hands hanging loosely by his side. It’s a good look for him.

“What do you think?” Louis asks, staring at the painting closest to him. He mostly remembers leaving his teeth marks on Harry’s hipbones, his brush clattering to the ground.

“Kid’s got talent,” Liam says and when Louis glances over at him, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, he does,” and he smiles.

~

Time seems to pass by in a blur and Louis keeps up with his uni work and it doesn’t seem to hurt as much when Harry pads his thumb over his tender flesh soothingly. Louis thinks this is what it must feel to be happy and he’s fucking terrified.

~

Louis enters Harry’s apartment, dropping his textbook onto the kitchen counter and walking into the living room. He stops short when he sees Niall and Harry on the couch, curled around each other like sleeping kittens with Niall’s toes tucked under Harry’s thighs. The odd thing is, nothing seems out of place – even to Louis.

“Hey,” Harry says, lifting his head up at Louis, dimples appearing instantaneously at the sight of him.

The tightening in Louis’ chest eases just the tiniest bit and Louis raises an eyebrow at Niall, amused tilt of his mouth. Harry’s still got his hand in his hair, moving long paint-stained fingers through the strands.

“He took some pill and he doesn’t feel well,” Harry says and he shakes his head at Niall.

Niall doesn’t say anything, just burrows further into Harry’s side and whimpers.

“This is why you don’t take drugs from strangers,” Harry says like he’s talking to a child and laughs and Louis can only assume Niall’s bitten him through his faded t-shirt.

Louis pushes himself off the wall and crosses the short distance between them to land a kiss on the bow of Harry’s lips.

“M’just dropping in. Liam’s waiting for me out front,” Louis says and curls his hand possessively along his jawline.

“M’kay,” Harry says, content and leaning into his touch.

Louis kisses him again, digs his thumb at the skin under Harry’s ear and playfully bites at his bottom lip before pulling away. Harry chases his mouth and Louis smiles, kisses his nose briefly and starts to walk backwards. He has an exam in thirty minutes and he doesn’t have the time to be distracted right now. He _needs_ to pass.

“Bye, love,” Louis says and grabs his textbook.

It’s only when he closes the door behind him and starts running down the stairs again that he realises Niall was wearing the sweater, _his_ sweater. If it was big on Harry, it’s got nothing on how it fits on Niall. It completely slips over his hands and hangs from the bony lines of his shoulders, threatening to envelop him completely. But it’s Niall and of course it doesn’t. Niall seems to shine through anything, Louis’ sees this.

~

When he gets out of the car, directly outside of the building where he’s going to be taking his exam, Liam turns his head slightly and says, “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, quirking his head to the side. He slides his way across the seat and catches a glimpse of Liam’s expression and hurries his way inside the exam-condition room, places a hand over his ribs where the scars seem to match up all the way _inside_.

~

He should’ve figured it out sooner but he was too selfish, taking taking _taking_ because he was offered something he’d never been before. It’s not too much to ask to be kept in denial, to soothe the aches away by leaving his marks on Harry’s skin and only asking to be loved in return.

Really, he’s not all that surprised when he drops by Harry’s apartment unannounced. He’s been feeling jittery all day, like his skin’s shrunken around his bones and when he keys open the door, shaking his head because he’s told Harry to lock the door so many times, he feels more numb than anything else. Louis lets his hand travel down the length of the door, paint peeling and catching under his nails as his brain tries to process what his eyes are telling him.

Harry’s got Niall under him and all Louis can see is the broad expanse of his back, a bruised bite on his left shoulder blade - the one Louis left - shining like a beacon in the darkness. Niall has his eyes screwed shut in pleasure, cheeks flushed, red lips parted and panting hard.

Louis doesn’t say anything, they haven’t noticed him yet. He tries to leave quietly but the rusty door creaks after him and then he’s running down the dirty stairs, slipping on the mould and mud. He can’t get out of the building fast enough because the door bangs open behind him and Harry’s standing at the top of the stairs, a sheet wrapped around his waist.

“Louis,” Harry says and his voice is soft. There’s no panic or terror in his voice, just quiet sadness. He doesn’t offer up an explanation and that’s what makes Louis’ whole body still completely, frozen on the landing, his hands clutching the banister.

“Were you fucking him the whole time?” Louis says broken out of his reverie, his voice conversational, almost casual.

Harry doesn’t answer him, just looks at him like he wants him to understand. The hilarious fucking thing about this whole situation is that he does understand. It’s not a fair fight between Louis and Niall. Niall’s can heal Harry’s scar and love him better than Louis can.

“It’s not like that,” Harry says and he’s so beautiful even under the fluorescent lights, sweat matting his curls to his forehead.

“Choose me,” Louis says and shakes his head to clear it when his voice breaks. He knows it’s useless at this point but he says it anyway.

Harry doesn’t say anything and the silence envelopes the both of them. Louis has to shut his eyes, shut Harry out because he can’t stand it.

When Louis opens his eyes again, his blue eyes are icy and distant. He walks up the stairs slowly, almost prowling with his knuckles banging loudly against the bars of the banister. Louis gets to Harry, reaches for him with an outstretched and even after all this, Harry comes. Louis thumbs at his jaw line and kisses him hard, all teeth and impact. He can taste Niall on his tongue and the heavy wave of what that means washes over him.

“I fucking love you,” Louis says against his lips but it’s not an argument to his case.

It’s nothing.

~

Louis doesn’t go back out to where Liam’s waiting for him in his discreet car, tapping out rhythms against the steering wheel, his phone on the dashboard in easy reaching distance just in case. He goes out the back of the shitty little building, slumps against the back of the vandalised bricks and laughs. He laughs till his eyes are screwed shut and his chest hurts too much and then he calls Zayn.

They go out and Zayn doesn’t ask questions because he knows he doesn’t have the right and it’d mean unravelling whatever he’s locked up too. Zayn matches Louis shot for shot and they both stumble out of the club clutching at each other, laughing into each other’s shoulder. They somehow end up in one of Zayn’s friend’s places, a girl named Perrie with wide eyes and bony limbs and Louis wakes up to too many missed calls and texts from Liam.

~

Louis doesn’t know how to describe what Harry’s done to him, what he’s done to himself. He goes through periods of feeling so completely fucking numb, like he’s seeing himself live his life from the outside. Louis goes to school, he does his course work and he attends charity events set up in his mother’s name when he’s told to. Then he goes through periods that make it all seem like a fucking blessing, when he wonders if he could physically scratch through skin and bone to get at his heart.

He’s just worn-out.

~

His nineteenth birthday rolls around and Louis is _not_ going to stand there in front of his father’s friends and try to get the words he’s learned off by heart out of his throat. He thinks _fuck it_ , ignores the warning sign going off in his head and goes out to suck more poison down his throat instead. The inevitable hovers in Louis’ consciousness even when he can barely see straight, sweat matting his hair to his forehead and it’s kind of comforting, actually, to have one constant in his life even if it’s broken skin and ache. It clears his mind.

Liam finds him eventually like he always does. He doesn’t say a word, just lets Louis lean against his sturdy frame and leads him back to the car. They don’t go back to the house this time; Louis’ too out of it to be able to face his father and get out of there safely.

Louis vaguely remembers Liam’s apartment from the broken pieces of the nights before. Liam sits him down in the bathtub and grabs the first aid kit from the cabinet. Louis doesn’t know if the bathroom light has always been this bright or if it’s just because it’s framing Liam. Perfect, golden, shining Liam. Louis grits his teeth even though the bruise forming against his jaw from a punch thrown inside the club shoots pain up the side of his face.

Once Liam had asked him why he does it, cleaning him up with a cotton pad and careful fingers, tilting his face to the side. Louis had smiled at Liam, wide and bright like he’d been taught because it’s easier than to let the fatigue show through the cracks.

“It’s better to give him a reason, don’t you think?” he finally says when Liam had finally given up on acquiring an answer.

Liam sets Louis up in his bed, throws the duvet over him and reaches for the lamp, reaching across Louis to flick it off. Louis can still feel the weight of him dipping into the side of the bed but he refuses to open his eyes, just breathes as evenly as he can and flexes his aching fingers under the covers. He doesn’t want to see Liam’s face, sad and _disappointed_ because he doesn’t get to be – he has no fucking _right_. Liam exhales softly and the mattress shifts against Louis’ back and Louis can feel his body heat retreating.

Louis breathes in slowly through his nose and is suddenly bowled over by this terrifying sense of comfort squeezing his chest. He screws his eyes shut, can’t keep up the pretence of sleeping anymore and hates himself a little bit more when he grabs at Liam’s wrist. He’s warm and alive against his palm, pulsing underneath the pads of his fingertips and the bones of his wrists are unbearably strong to his touch.

He doesn’t say all the things he wants to say like _stay_ and _please_ and instead says, “You’re not sleeping on your own sofa.”

Louis can’t figure out Liam’s facial expression, and he thought he was pretty good at reading people – he _had_ to be – but Liam doesn’t argue. He just lifts the corner of the duvet and slips in underneath besides Louis. He doesn’t shrug Louis’ hand off his wrist even though it must be aching by now. Louis reaches out tentatively, ignoring Liam’s curious gaze and tracing his birthmark with the pad of his thumb.

Louis can’t seem to let go, fingers digging into the flesh, it holds him down like an anchor as sleep thankfully pulls him under.

~

Louis jerks awake in the middle of the night, the all too familiar burning in his lungs, the taste of blood in his mouth, the reason he’s never slept over a full night at Harry’s. He realises belatedly he’s not in his own bed and almost topples off to the side until strong arms wrap around his waist and steady him.

Louis flinches away and Liam lets go of him immediately, rapidly blinking the sleep away.

“Hey – hey it’s alright,” he says, withdrawing from Louis, hands held out in front of him like he’s placating a wild animal.

Every muscle in his body is tense with the effort not to fight and Louis exhales sharply through his nose, tries to calm the racing of his heart and get his bearings straight.

“It’s just me,” Liam says tentatively, reaching out a hand. Louis doesn’t flinch this time, just watches him warily as he rests it light on the small of his back, pinpoints of heat pressing into his spine.

Louis takes a deep breath and his shoulders slump in something close to relief. He gets under the duvet again, sweat cooling on his forehead. This time he doesn’t resist when Liam pulls him closer, curls his hand at the back of his neck and guides his head to rest on his shoulder. Louis breathes in again and curls his trembling fingers against the warm material of Liam’s cotton shirt.

“Just me,” Liam mumbles again, already falling asleep. He spreads his fingers so they trail into the soft hairs curling at the nape of his neck, murmuring something else Louis can’t catch.

They fall asleep again and Louis’ heartbeat slows down eventually.

~

He doesn’t know exactly when his body stopped feeling like it’s been peeled raw, his flesh singed off and dropped into the ocean. He still has moments, days at a time when it all comes back again and then it’s so much worse, like coming to the pain after being under morphine. But it’s getting better, he’s getting better – Louis doesn’t know if that’s what he wants.

~

Louis shows up to a dinner party, the taste of the pill lingering in the back of his throat. It feels like his skin is on fire, he’s so hot, and his pupils are blown wide, a thin line of blue all that’s left. He doesn’t know what he wanted to get out of this, doesn’t really know what he was thinking but he interrupts his father in the middle of his little speech with a snort. Before he knows it, he’s snarling _fuck you_ and then he’s got Liam’s hand wrapped around his arm, leading him back out.

All the fight drains out of Louis and he puts the empty flute of champagne on the nearest table as they exit. Liam doesn’t let go of his grip on Louis’ arm, digs his thumb in sharply. When Louis glances at him on the way out, the lines around his mouth are tight and he looks so _angry_.

He doesn’t understand and so he shrugs his arm out of Liam’s grip, stumbles over himself. His wavers before his balance is righted, rejecting Liam’s silent (constant) offer of help. He gets in the car, bites down on his tongue till he draws blood.

~

Afterwards he presses his finger tips into the aches, relishes in the pain that shoots up his sides and flashes hot inside his skull because it’s better than thinking. It’s hard to escape from, even the pain can’t keep it away and he snorts because how pathetic, he can’t even keep himself in a state of denial.

Because in the end, he deserves it all, doesn’t he? Because there’s something so horribly wrong with him, deep in his bones and curling dark inside his skin, it’s hideous and repulsive. How can it be anyone else’s fault that they can’t love _him?_

Louis doesn’t wince when he staggers out of bed, pulls on his clothes with shaking fingers. He doesn’t like being alone with his thoughts, he’s sick of them, sick of himself. He favours his left side as he grabs his keys and makes his way out of the house.

He knows his father’s probably sleeping by now, he always drinks afterwards. Louis used to think it would be better if his father drank before the blows because at least he could blame _that_ but it all comes boiling down to him in the end.

It’s just Louis.

~

He doesn’t call Liam this time but he finds him anyway.

~

The sight of Liam walking towards him through the rain is enough to make dread curl in his stomach. He curls his fingers into a fist, lets the rain soak into his clothes because he’s burning, he’s burning to just _punch_ him in the face. He wants to get his knuckles bloody, he’s so fucking angry because _what does Liam think he’s doing?_

The fight goes out of Louis with every step Liam takes towards him, seeps out of his pores and into the wet pavement below his feet. By the time Liam reaches him Louis’ hands rest limp against his sides and his eyes are screwed shut.

“Why are you doing this?” Louis asks, pleads actually, slumping against the wall. He’s got no energy for this; it’s all been drained out of him. He’s tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop, he’s been waiting, terrified, choking on the dread of it all for so long now.

His very bones are weary and he just _needs_ it all to be over.

“I promised,” Liam says after a moment, quietly and Louis can barely hear him over the rain. Liam physically stops himself from saying anything more, his whole body tense in an attempt to keep the words in.

Louis tilts his head to let the cold rain wash over his heated skin. He almost doesn’t hear Liam say, “I promised to keep you safe.”

A car passes them, headlights flashing in the dark, water splashing under its wheels and it illuminates Liam’s face for a moment and he looks tired too, older than he should look. It devastates Louis more than he could ever put into words.

Liam reaches for Louis slowly, staggering forward as if he’s been physically wounded. He gives enough time for Louis not to react in the instinctive, to flinch away from him and hide. His hand is shaking when he slides his palm against the jut of Louis’ jaw, pressing his finger tips into the damp skin and watching Louis with that look on his face. He’s never seen Liam not the picture perfect example of sturdy, dependable, steady – _Liam_. He has to close his eyes so he won’t have to see.

They both chase each other’s heat until they’re pressed flush against each other and the warmth of his skin through the cold wetness makes Louis’ head spin. He thinks Liam’s going to kiss him for a moment and his heart stutters in terror that’s to do with the want curling in his belly. All he does is cup Louis’ jaw with both hands, rests his cheek against his, his broad shoulders hunched and shaking. Louis inhales sharply because the force of it rattles his teeth and bones right down to the core.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly against his cheekbone and holds them together closely, runs his thumb along the underside of his chin.

Louis chokes on his breath, feels something wrecked and awful start clawing at his chest and he can’t get enough air into his lungs. Liam doesn’t let go of him, frantic now he whispers fiercely, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t. _I’m so sorry.”_

Louis clutches at his shoulder, digs his fingernails into the flesh and it’s ugly and broken, the sound that escapes from his throat.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until he’s stopped, the cold rain washing his heated face.

~

They get back to Liam’s apartment and this time, Louis is sober enough to take in more than just the frightening warmth of his bed. There’s a framed picture on his bedside table of Liam in his graduation gown, arms tight around his mum who’s kissing his cheek. But as Louis looks around the sleek lines and clean designs, Louis realises that’s pretty much the only thing that shows it’s Liam and not some stranger who lives here.

Louis peels Liam’s wet shirt over his head for once, gets him dry and under the covers before slipping in himself. Louis curls in on himself instinctively, exhales slowly when Liam turns to his side and his arm comes to rest around his waist, hand sliding over his chest to rest his palm over his heart. All Louis can feel is Liam’s strong body pressed against his back, knees tucked under his. He shivers when Liam brushes his lips against the back of his neck, barely there at all but still _there_ and Louis closes his eyes.

Maybe Liam’s apartment isn’t his home either.

~

Louis wakes up when it’s still dark outside, his lungs aching fiercely and he has to greedily gulp down air into his lungs before it steadies. There’s nobody else in the bed with him and panic shoots sharply up his spine in his sleep-addled state. He shoves the covers off in a rush, doesn’t even notice just how cold the floor is against the soles of his feet as he’s trying to tamp down on the alarm swelling in his guts.

The door to the bathroom is slightly ajar even though the lights are off and Louis can hear noises coming from inside. He pushes the door open, knuckles turning white against the doorknob and feels the breath leave him when he sees Liam. He’s right there, hunched over the sink and the line of his shoulder looks broken and fragile. Louis wants to rest between his shoulder blades, smooth the cracks away and run his nails along the seams.

Liam looks up into the mirror and their eyes meet. Louis doesn’t know who makes the first move, all he knows is that he’s rushing forward and before he knows it, Liam’s kissing him hard, backing him up against the counter. His broad hand wraps around the back of his neck in a sturdy grip and he helps Louis scramble onto the lip of the sink, stands between his spread legs and pushes his thumb against the skin just under his ear. Louis’ mouth falls slack and he pulls Liam in closer, his hands starting to tug at the hem of Liam’s shirt.

“Off, get it -” Louis says frantically against his mouth, fingers scrabbling at Liam’s abs in an attempt to shove the material up and over his head, to get as much skin as possible. Liam leans back and Louis follows him, only realising belatedly he can’t take his shirt off if he keeps sucking on his bottom lip. Liam throws his shirt over his head and moves right back into Louis’ space, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth before trailing his mouth down his neck, scraping his teeth over his Adam’s apple and making him buck his hips forward. Liam groans against his skin, smoothes the sting with his tongue and sucks hard at the hollow of his throat, a hand on Louis’ arse pulling him closer.

It’s frantic and rushed and Louis needs to hide his face against Liam’s neck when they push bare skin against each other, screws his eyes shut and mouths at his skin because he needs this, he needs this so fucking much and he _can’t_. Louis muffles his cry into the junction where shoulder meets neck, biting at the chord of muscle when he comes all over Liam’s hand and Liam’s whispering against his throat, quiet syllables that push through the haze of pleasure and rest under his skin.

Louis urges Liam on, hooking ankle behind him. He doesn’t say anything, just breathes against Liam with his mouth slack and open. Louis watches Liam’s eyes close, hears his throat catch and he’s going over the edge. Louis kisses him through it, runs his tongue along the swell of his bottom lip and nips lightly with his teeth. Liam rests their foreheads together and with his eyes still shut he slides his palm slowly along Louis’ and threads their fingers together.

“Okay?” he asks into the shared air between them and it’s more of a sigh than anything else, really.

“Okay,” Louis repeats because what else can he say and leans forward to kiss him again.

~

Louis wakes up under the blankets, his wrist aching from sleeping with their hands tangled. They’re fingers are slack, just barely threaded together and Louis’ too weak from sleep and exhaustion to hold him properly. That’s when the illusion of safety and warmth breaks and all of a sudden, he feels claustrophobic, scrambling to get the sheets over his head.

He takes in a deep breath of the cold morning air and remembers vividly why this isn’t _good_. He won’t be able to stand it anymore and Louis will become cruel, snarling and baring his teeth to get Liam to tell him the truth, to make him despise him. He’s going to hurt Liam, slice into his skin like glass and _embed_ because-

Liam opens his eyes, blinking blearily at the faint streams of sunlight falling onto the bed. He fits their palms together and smiles at Louis slowly. He runs his thumb over the rough skin over his knuckles, right where the bones don’t match up properly and it shoots right through Louis.

It’s inevitable, Louis’ going to contaminate Liam with the awfulness in him - leave him bleeding and wrecked. His heart starts to race painfully fast when Liam bites at his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth, still smiling that small hopeful smile, squinting at him blearily. Louis knows better than this, fight or flight – he knows better than to stay.

But then Liam says, “Morning,” his voice low and raspy from sleep and rolls over to fit them together. He rests his free hand over Louis’ ribs, just a reassuring weight against the bones there to keep him grounded.

Louis can’t help it if he curls into his warmth, Liam’s skin all soft and warm from sleep. Liam makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat and lazily noses at the line of his throat, dropping a kiss to his ear with a sigh. Louis wants to block his ears but when Liam presses the pad of his fingers against his skin the _he’s going to hurt you he’s going to hurt you_ starts to fade and it doesn’t kill him to take another breath.

~

He doesn’t let Liam pull him under, tries to keep his distance – safe. But it’s hard when the only time he feels that way is when Liam’s wrapping his strong arms around him and the smile curls around his lips, unhesitant and constant.

Because Liam cooks terrible eggs (they taste more like plastic than anything and Louis’ not entirely sure how that’s possible when his mother’s a _maid_ ) and he has all the _cycles_ of America’s Next Top Model on DVD and corrects Louis every time he says ‘season’ instead like it matters. He sleeps with his right hand curled into a fist, not like the way Louis does, but like maybe he used to clutch at his favourite blanket as a child. He runs his fingers over Louis’ skin, over the bumps and scars, like he can’t believe he’s allowed to touch and when they fuck, he always comes with a sense of frenzy, like it’s the last time.

There are all these tidbits of Liam’s life tucked away into the dark lines of his uniform suit, hidden behind his sunglasses and Louis wants to spend his time mapping them against his body, coax them out till he’s all there for Louis’ taking. On the third day, Louis realises the bookshelf is crammed with books all to do with _criminal law_ and other jargon he doesn’t care too much about and he turns around to raise an expectant eyebrow at Liam.

He’s studying law and Louis laughs, not bitterly or laced with resentment, but because he wants to see him wearing those ridiculous wigs now and when Liam pulls him onto the sofa he says, “Talk lawyer to me, baby,” in a ridiculous accent and gets Liam to laugh like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard in his life. It hits Louis like a freight train and he stops smiling, presses his thumb against the smile that radiates all up his cheeks and breathes out raggedly, closes his eyes because it’s too late now.

They solely reside in Liam’s apartment for almost a week and nothing seems to matter when they’re too fucked out to care. Louis knows better but he gives himself the week, just this one moment where he can hide from the world and bare everything to Liam and their phone remains off. They run out to the grocery store in their pyjamas to buy milk and survive pretty much on pizza and tea and each other.

The inevitable presses down against the curve of Louis’ shoulder, pushing against his bones and thin skin till breaking point. But it’s a reprieve from it, this, and he hasn’t felt it in such a long time.

Liam doesn’t pull him under but Louis thinks it’s okay if he can stay afloat.

~

Louis cuts his finger accidentally on the broken shards of a plate when he attempts to do the dishes. The amount of dishes had been stacking up steadily until they’d been left to eat the greasy pizza straight from the box. Liam would probably clean up but he’s too physically exhausted to even move right now. Louis would polish his nails on his shirt for that one if it wasn’t currently bloody, flowing with the beat of his pulse.

Louis stares at the red beads of blood as if transfixed and jumps when Liam shuffles into the kitchen. He spins around, dropping his hand so the droplets fall to the white tiles instead, half-hidden behind him. Liam’s only wearing his boxers and he’s yawning, stretching his limbs and cracking his joints and Louis can’t help but be impressed by the strength in his muscles, stares like he hasn’t been under him for the better part of the day. Before Louis can make a comment about that, Liam’s walking around the broken pieces of the plate, tip-toeing his way nonsensically. He’s at Louis’ side in no-time, gently cradling his injured hand in his palms.

He checks out the cut, making sure there’s nothing embedded into his skin. He seems satisfied enough that it’s a clean wound and pulls Louis’ thumb into his mouth, gently swipes his tongue against the wound. The heat ebbs steadily from the cut until it curls in his stomach and runs down to his toes and he inhales sharply when Liam lets go of his thumb.

The air’s cold on his spit-slicked skin but he presses a soft kiss against the wound and says, “No lasting damage.”

And Louis doesn’t have the words to reply to that but from the way Liam’s looking at him, brown eyes warm and steady, he’s not expecting a reply. When Louis kisses Liam again, he can still taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth but it’s okay because Liam’s still here after all and the ebb of _what are we doing – what do you think you’re – you can’t – he won’t let this_ echo distantly inside his head till all he can hear is Liam’s warmth sliding against his skin, the _I love you I love you I love you_ sucked into the insides of his thighs and _we’ll be okay, I promise_ bitten into his ribs and _it’s got to count for something, you have to believe it’s got to count for something_ kissed into the lines on his palms.

Nothing’s guaranteed, really, and every joint in his body screams that he’s going to be stripped to the bones again except this time he won’t be able to build himself up. Then Liam slowly slides his feet up over the muscle of his calf and he thinks he has to _try,_ he owes him that much.

~

Liam kisses Louis awake at 5am on the dot, brackets his face with his elbows and goes slow and steady with it. He knows the best ways to get Louis to wake up in time to catch the waves, slips his leg in between Louis’ and smiles in satisfaction when Louis’ eyes flutter open. Liam tries his best to make sure Louis doesn’t wake up in panic, choking in an attempt to get air into his lungs. It’s all worth it because Louis smiles at him, his eyes crinkling in the corners and rubs their noses together.

“Wake up sleepyhead,” Liam says even though he’s already awake, just to get Louis to trail his fingers down his side.

They don’t bother locking the door behind them when they leave with their surfboards, walking barefoot down to the beach. Louis reaches out to pinch Liam’s nipple through his wetsuit but he dodges it easily, grabs his hand instead and twines their fingers together because Louis can never just do that instead.

The beach is fairly deserted, just a bunch of surfers trying to get the best waves before the day starts and Louis shouts, “G’day mate!” obnoxiously to a bunch of surfers who laugh at him. He rambles on for a couple more moments with what he _thinks_ is an Australian accent before getting in the water.

The cold water knocks the breath out of Louis’ lungs but it also clears his brain and the burn in his arms as he starts to paddle farther out to sea is more comforting than anything else. He can imagine what Liam’s skin is going to taste like afterwards, like the ocean and sun and heat curls at the base of his spine in anticipation. He sits up on his board once he’s out far enough, clutches at the side of the board and waits for Liam to catch up.

“It’s gorgeous out,” Liam says from behind him because _he would_. Louis turns around to tease him about it but he can’t quite seem to be able to get the words out, his breath catching in his throat ridiculously. The sun’s starting to rise behind Liam and he has to squint, pausing for a moment because _yeah_ , it is.

Louis smiles softly at Liam, lets it spread slowly until his toes curl in the cold water and says, “Gorgeous.”

The way Liam smiles back might be an indicator they’re both aware he’s not talking about the weather.

~

The colours of the sky, bleeding out from the sunrise are imprinted on the insides of Louis’ eyelids. When he comes to, shivering so hard his teeth rattle in his skull, all he tastes is the acrid harshness of sick and blood. The crass bricks of the alleyway dig into his shoulder bones, his head lolling back against the wall and there’s no-one left to call.

And he smiles, the corners of his mouth curling up because that’s how it is, how it _should_ be. He doesn’t have the energy to open his eyes.


End file.
